


Sweet Tooth

by theorchardofbones



Series: From Darkness to Light [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Hot Weather, Ice Cream, M/M, Slow Burn, the beginnings of UST, what of it, yeah I had prompto eat an ice pop and have it completely innocent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-19 07:15:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11308413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theorchardofbones/pseuds/theorchardofbones
Summary: The weather on the way to Lestallum is too hot for the friends, and Prompto copes the only way he knows how — sugar.Written forPromptio Weekday 3, under the prompt 'dessert'.





	Sweet Tooth

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow Prompto and Gladio's story [here](http://archiveofourown.org/series/756873).
> 
> If anybody's interested, my personal tumblr is [here](https://theorchardofbones.tumblr.com), and my ffxv blog is [here](flowercrownsandchocobos.tumblr.com).

Gladiolus feels like he’s being baked alive.

Ahead of him there’s a band of angry red skin visible just above the neckline of Prompto’s tank; whenever he moves, a little sliver of pale flesh shows beneath it. Gladiolus watches a bead of sweat trickle out of the blond strands of Prompto’s hair, watches it roll down his neck and into the band of his shirt.

He looks away.

‘I’m _dying_ ,’ Prompto whines, his voice hitting a grating pitch. ‘How are you guys not melting right now?’

Gladiolus drops his head back against the seat behind him. He’s starting to despise the standard-issue leather interiors of the Regalia. Slick and stylish, certainly, but _hell_ in hot weather. He can feel the backs of his arms sticking to the material whenever he sits still too long; has to periodically peel the skin away, wincing at the pain.

‘Hey, Iggy,’ Noct says, leaning forward to sluggishly tap on his friend’s shoulder. ‘Make a pit stop at the next gas station?’

Ignis pushes his glass up the bridge of his nose, whereupon they slide down almost immediately, courtesy of the sweat accumulating there.

‘I’ll not argue,’ Ignis says. ‘It might do the Regalia some good to cool down.’

The closest gas station still seems too far away; by the time they’re parked in the shade, the Regalia’s engine ticking noisily as it cools off, Gladiolus barely has the energy to peel himself off his seat and get out.

They trudge to the diner and Ignis puts in an order of tall, cool drinks.

‘And a chocolate sundae!’ Prompto blurts.

When everyone stares at him, he throws his hands up.

‘What? I get hungry when it’s hot.’

The seats in the booths at the diner are imitation leather and Gladiolus flinches from the thought of leaning back against them. Thankfully the window-side of the diner has been in shade for the better part of the day, and they’re cool to the touch. He lets Prompto slide in ahead of him before flopping down next to him.

The other patrons in the diner that day look similarly irritable. Gladiolus sees a mother, red faced and flustered, trying fruitlessly to settle a cranky toddler. He doesn’t envy her — he remembers Iris at the worst of her terrible twos, when she was liable to burst into fits of tears whenever she didn’t get her way.

The group’s usual chatter is glaringly absent while they wait for their order. The day is slow and sleepy, too hot to think straight. Outside, a haze of heat plays over the blacktop.

When their drinks are finally set down in front of them and Gladiolus takes his first sip, he thinks it might be the best soda he’s ever had. The server didn’t scrimp on ice, and the cubes clink melodically against the glass as they swirl in the liquid.

Across the table, Noct holds his glass to his forehead, his eyes closed as though he is at this very moment in heaven.

‘Hey, ‘member that heatwave a couple years back?’ Prompto says suddenly. His words are slurred and muffled between mouthfuls of ice cream. ‘This is _hotter_.’

Gladiolus doesn’t even need to ask for clarification — ‘54 went down as one of the hottest summers on record. Unrest had been rife amongst the people of Insomnia, and he had wound up with a scar straight down his face as a memento for stepping in to protect Noctis from a man in a drunken rage.

‘That might be a bit of an exaggeration,’ Ignis says.

He pushes his glasses up his nose yet again; _yet again_ , they slide back down.

‘Nope,’ Noct says flatly. He still has his eyes closed, his drink now pressed to his neck. ‘Hotter.’

Gladiolus feels a nudge at his elbow. When he looks to his right, Prompto is looking up at him expectantly with a spoonful of ice cream poised in his grasp.

‘Wanna bite, big guy?’

There’s a melted drop of ice cream dangling from the bottom of the spoon. Before it can fall, Prompto uses his other hand to catch it and licks it from his fingers.

Gladiolus shakes his head.

With a shrug, Prompto tips the spoon into his own mouth and turns to look out the window.

* * *

It’s a painful prospect to have to go back out on the road, even with a few newly-procured share size bottles of soda and water nestled in the cooler in the back of the Regalia. Gladiolus tries to tell himself that it’ll be dark before they know it; that the heat will taper off as the sun dies down.

The on-demand forecast tells a different story, of course — the humidity looks set to worsen as the day wears on.

Prompto has an ice pop where he sits in the front. Gladiolus can tell Ignis isn’t happy about it from the way he keeps flicking a glance toward Prompto’s hands, and down to the cream-coloured upholstery to inspect it for stains.

‘How far to Lestallum, anyways?’ Prompto says. He has a hand thrown across his forehead to shield his face from the sun, not that it seems to be doing much good. ‘We’ve been driving _forever_.’

Gladiolus leans forward to check the clock on the dash; it’s not even three yet. A gust sends strands of Prompto’s hair brushing against his cheek, against his neck. He swallows, sitting back.

Prompto’s right about one thing — maybe they haven’t been driving forever, but it sure feels like it.

* * *

It’s too hot in the tent; Noct is a bundle of limbs, somehow sprawled across the space three men should take up. After throwing his arm off for the fifth time, Gladiolus gives up with a grumble, climbing out of the tent.

Prompto’s still up, head bent over his phone as he frantically taps at the screen. Gladiolus can hear the battle music from King’s Knight playing softly from the speaker.

‘Maybe you wouldn’t be so cranky in the mornings if you got a good night’s sleep for once,’ he says, shaking his head.

He settles down into the seat by Prompto and digs his own phone out of his pocket.

‘Co-op?’ he says.

Prompto nods, barely looking up.

They play awhile, but Gladiolus gives up before long. He’s tired and irritable, eager for a break in the heat; he keeps letting his character die when he should be more careful, and Prompto has to rush in to revive him.

He leans back in his seat and covers his face in his hands. There’s a pressure behind his eyes — a headache brewing. He hears scraping, then clinking, then rustling. When he uncovers his eyes and cracks one of them open enough to look, Prompto’s wrist-deep in the cooler, rummaging around in it. His blond hair falls across his face, covering his eyes as he bites his lip in concentration.

Gladiolus watches him pull his hand out, something closed within it. When Prompto plops back in his seat, he opens his fingers a little and Gladiolus sees the label of some generic brand ice cream sandwich.

‘Seriously?’ Gladiolus says. He drops his hands, sits up straight to look at Prompto in disbelief. ‘You haven’t put a single thing in your mouth today that wasn’t loaded with sugar.’

Prompto tears the wrapping open; takes a bite as he shrugs.

‘M’hungry.’

Gladiolus throws his eyes skyward. He had thought Noct was bad enough with his aversion to vegetables.

‘Want some?’ Prompto says.

His arm is outstretched as he proffers the dessert, his eyes open in an earnest invitation. Gladiolus thinks of earlier when Prompto had offered a spoonful of sundae, thinks of the little drop of melted chocolate that had fallen into his hand. There’s a trickle of ice cream running down Prompto’s hand even now, but he doesn’t seem to have noticed.

Gladiolus pushes off from his seat with a sigh. He takes the sandwich out of Prompto’s hand — careful not to get the sticky residue from Prompto’s fingers on his own — and bites off a corner of it from the untouched side.

It’s lukewarm at best, the ice cream all but turned to slush even with the cooler’s feeble attempts at fending off the heat of the day. The cookie base around the outside is still cold, however, and it feels good on his tongue, and down his throat.

He hands it back.

‘Good, huh?’ Prompto says, before stuffing the ice cream into his mouth once more.

‘It’s no ice-cold beer,’ Gladiolus grumbles.

Prompto is gone from his seat in a flash, one hand holding his dessert while the other roots around in the cooler. The clinking is louder than last time and Gladiolus winces, shooting a look in the direction of the tent. Nobody comes out.

A moment later Prompto raises his hand triumphantly.

‘Ta-da!’

Gladiolus laughs in spite of himself. Prompto looks so proud, standing there with a bottle of beer in one hand and an ice cream sandwich leaking all over the other. Gladiolus takes the former gratefully and twists off the cap, guzzling down a few mouthfuls.

‘I wouldn’t call it ice-cold,’ he says. ‘But it’s still pretty damn good.’

Prompto grins, visibly pleased with himself. He settles back into his seat and finishes off the ice cream, licking his fingers clean.

Somewhere, out in the dark, a wild dog howls. After a beat, its mate barks in reply.


End file.
